


Kissing Air

by Ragga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Established Relationship, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M, Murder Mystery, Obsessive Behavior, Only a few tags because spoilers, POV Alternating, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Steter Secret Santa 2018, Writer Stiles Stilinski, because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 02:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: “Listen, I’m going to be straight with you. Just before I arrived, I—figured out some very alarming things that I feel you should know.”Peter tilted his head. His eyes roamed over Chris’ face before flicking over to his steadily beating chest.“What is it?”“You should stay away from Stilinski.”





	Kissing Air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CosenAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosenAngel/gifts).



> Merry Christmas (a little early) CosenAngel! Your friendly neighbouring secret santa here, knocking on your door and bearing this humble gift. I hope you (and all you readers) enjoy :)

“Hello, Peter.”

Peter turned around. Chris stood there, bearing his rugged beard and wrinkled, faded clothes that Peter hadn’t missed. With how much he was making from his business, Peter thought he would’ve at least tried to be presentable. Over a decade ago it had been a look—now? Now it was just sloppy.

“Christopher,” Peter greeted him back. Chris smiled. It was a nice smile, Peter mused. He remembered it being directed at him once and loving the attention… up until Chris had decided that he wanted to introduce him to his then something-teen-year-old daughter.

He had been a lot of things but the settling kind in his early twenties? Yeah, that had not been one.

“Do you think—” Chris swallowed. Peter could see his throat work. “—that we could go for a pint? For old time’s sake?”

Peter blinked slowly. Since their break-up they hadn’t kept all that much contact. A few beers every once in a while in the beginning but their contact had dried up when it became clear that Peter wouldn’t be interested in starting anything serious.

He could see the reason he entered the shop slip away from the corner of his eye. His hand clenched around his bag of Reese’s before relaxing slowly.

A warm smirk spread over his lips although his eyes reflected the ice inside for the briefest of moments.

“Sure. That would be fun.”

***

Chris watched as Peter left, his bag of chocolate with him. It seemed somewhat similar to all the other times their paths had crossed—with Chris reaching and Peter walking away, repeating until Chris no longer found the strength to raise his hand and Peter moved back to Beacon Hills again. This time, at least, it seemed that Peter was willing to entertain him for a moment or two.

He hoped it would be enough.

Chris made himself scarce, ignoring the curious onlookers. Beacon Hills was far too small, he thought. He would probably never have crossed paths with Peter—or any Hale—again if not for Allison meeting her fiancé in college and moving into the same city as them. He supposed it was partly his fault; they hadn’t stayed anywhere for longer than a few months since Kate and Victoria had been killed, been left without roots for so long.

Christ, it had been a lot for Allison. First her mother had been killed in a hunt in California, which already had had Chris on his toes. And then Kate had—

He shook his head, storming out of the store. Maybe if Chris had let them settle after that and not pretty much instantly moved them to the other side of the coast, she might have gotten closure and not returned for college. He had thought that, maybe, since he had met Peter again in the east coast, finishing his degree and so free and beautiful, and how things had gone with them before—

No, he mouthed to himself. He slammed his car door shut and started the SUV with one angry kick. This wasn’t why he was reaching out. Peter had made it clear.

He didn’t care.

But Lord, Chris still did.

***

Chris was already there when Peter arrived. He was nursing what looked like his second beer so, apparently, he had been there for a while already. Peter nodded at him and went to order one of his own. Chris followed him with his eyes.

Peter hummed.

His hunch that this was no mere social call had been correct after all.

After fetching his drink, he sauntered over and sat down on the other side of the booth. It was a nice bar, he had to admit. It was cosy without losing points in style. The tables were clearly made from a good material and there had been no stickiness to be found as Peter had walked. The chairs were comfortable as well.

He leaned back.

“How are you, Christopher?” he asked. “It was quite a surprise to see you.”

“I’m alright,” Chris answered. He took a long drink from his pint. Peter eyed him before taking a sip of his own, though a much smaller one. “I came down to help Allison with her wedding.”

“Ah.” His hand lingered over the rim, caressing it in thought. “I suppose I should tell you congratulations.”

“Yes, yes,” Chris said. He tapped the glass he was still holding. “Listen, I’m going to be straight with you. Just before I arrived, I—figured out some very _alarming_ things that I feel you should know.”

Peter tilted his head. His eyes roamed over Chris’ face before flicking over to his steadily beating chest.

“What is it?” he asked.

Chris cleared his throat.

“You should stay away from Stilinski.”

Peter paused at in his movements, his pint hovering a few inches off the table. He squinted at Chris, trying to see what he meant by that, and settled the drink down again.

“Come again?” he said politely. If there was one thing he hadn’t thought would come out of Chris’ mouth, it was that. “I thought you just said I should stay away from my partner.”

Chris grimaced and grouched, “I did.”

“And this is where you are supposed to explain yourself.”

“He’s—” The tapping against the glass intensified. “—Bad news.”

“I haven’t needed a mother looking over my shoulder since I was a toddler,” Peter said dryly. “You are three decades too late.”

“I’m not—!” Chris said, frustrated. He pushed his pint away and leaned forward. “Listen, he’s not who you think he is.”

“I think I would have known if he had any skeletons in his closet, considering I’m _living with him_.”

Chris hissed, “He’s a murderer!”

Peter’s eyes widened before narrowing again. He repeated, “Come again?”

“Look, I’ve been looking into his books and they coincide awfully much with the recent crime sprees,” Chris said, hushed. “There have been murders from LA to New York, eerily matching with ones in his books, almost down to a letter! You must have heard about the Swinger murder and Watson case in San Francisco? Or the one in St. Louis last weekend?”

Peter gave him a hard look. “Those are out of your jurisdiction by your own choice—and even then, there’s nothing supernatural about mere murders.”

Chris made an aggrieved noise and chugged the rest of his drink, a whole third of the pint left. He set the glass down with a loud ‘ _clunk’_.

“Peter,” he said, strain visible in his voice. “It all matches. I don’t—you know how I feel about what Kate did.” Peter automatically scowled and Chris with him. “I’m afraid he’ll try to do the same.”

They stared at each other for a moment with Chris begging Peter to hear him and Peter gauging the sincerity of Chris’ words. He huffed.

“Chris,” Peter said, mimicking the former hunter. His tone took an amused edge which already caused Chris’ scowl to deepen. “Stiles is no serial killer, trust me. He’s just an author who spends far too much time online researching crimes and criminals.”

He stood up, pushing his unfinished drink towards Chris. He smirked.

“It was nice seeing you again. Send my regards to Allison. Tell her that Stiles is looking forward to the wedding and being the best man.”

As the shock spread over Chris’ face, Peter turned his back to him and walked out the door.

Ridiculous, he thought, amusement playing on his lips.

Absolutely ridiculous.

***

Allison knew _Stilinski_? _Stiles_ was _Mischief_?

The thought sent shivers down Chris’ spine. He immediately grabbed his phone and shot the text. He waited, anxious, for her to just tell her Peter was just dicking around. He kept thumbing the screen, keeping it lit. When it flashed with her message, he couldn’t help but groan aloud.

 _Yeah_ , Allison’s text read. _He adopted the name when no one could pronounce his birth name._

Chris frowned. _From his last name?_

_Yeah. Stilinski is easier to handle, even with all the s’s._

_Why do you call him Mischief then?_

_We met in the lang req._ Chris could hear Allison’s soft amusement. _Of course I would try to pronounce it! And I couldn’t. Mischief was something his mom used to call him. He looked so sad about it so I decided we’d create happier memories of it._

Only Allison.

_Sorry dad, Melissa’s here. I’ll see you soon, ok? Love you!_

_Love you too, baby girl_ , he sent and let his phone finally dim.

He stared into Peter’s empty seat.

He hadn’t even made the connection. This was bad. He had heard so much about the friend who introduced her to Scott though he hadn’t met him yet. He had had no idea that Mie-Me— _Mischief_ , Allison’s voice whispered in his mind— _Stilinski_ was Scott’s mysterious Stiles, Allison’s Mischief.

The same Stilinski who was committing the same crimes he was writing about.

His reverie was broken when the door slammed loudly and several hoots followed. Chris grimaced. This is why he had grown to prefer big cities. No one knew anything, everyone minded their own business—and the laughter was never this loud.

Small places always had something to hide.

Chris’ mouth narrowed to a thin line. He reached for Peter’s unfinished drink and chugged it down. He wrinkled his nose as the last made its way down his throat. It was just as sweet as the Reese’s he had seen him buy. When had Peter grown a sweet tooth anyway?

He stood and left with a big enough bill to cover his drinks and then some.

He had his work cut out for him. He would make this godforsaken place safe for both the Hales and Allison even if it killed him.

He swore.

***

Peter looked outside the window and snorted as he saw a familiar car just far enough not to raise any suspicion on the house it was watching. Chris was at it again, using the time he didn’t have to watch over them—or rather, Stiles.

It was the third time this week.

He let the curtains fall back to their places and walked back to the kitchen with the book he had come looking for in hand. He set it down next to the laptop Stiles was currently pouring over, heading back to where the breakfast was sizzling on the pan.

“Bacon’s not healthy in excess,” Stiles mumbled as he passed. He fumbled for the book, opening it on one of the many bookmarks, and then his fingers were flying over the keyboard with his eyes glued on the page somewhere in the middle of the book. Peter snorted.

“Don’t worry about it,” he drawled. “I’m not getting scurvy anytime soon.”

“Good, because I love your curves.”

Peter shifted the pan from its plate and made sure the heat was off. “I’ll have you know there is only muscle here.”

“That’s what I meant,” Stiles said, brows furrowed in concentration. “That six pack is the eighth wonder of the world.”

Peter couldn’t help it. He snorted again. He put half the bacon next to eggs on sunny side up and the other half to plate filled with scrambled mush. “Put the doc away or I’ll snap the lid shut.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Grumbling, Stiles’ fingers danced even faster until he clicked save and moved the computer and book away. Immediately the two plates were set down and the toaster eagerly threw up perfectly crunchy pieces of bread. Stiles fetched the juice Peter preferred along with a glass while a cup of coffee was set for Stiles on the table as well.

It was a familiar routine and they found themselves sitting face-to-face at the same time. Stiles nudged Peter’s foot, smile playing on his lips. He took the eggs with the yolk intact for himself, gently dipping his piece of toast in it.

“Do you have work today?” he asked, taking a bite. Peter hummed, spreading butter over his piece.

“The Andersons wanted me to come and have one last look at their papers before they’ll proceed with the case. They want to be absolutely sure that they’ll win against the construction company.”

“It’s a lot of money to lose,” Stiles agreed. “What was it, two million?”

“And counting at this rate,” Peter said.

“It’s going to drag?”

“Quite possibly. But it’s more about principle at this point.”

Stiles groaned, a piece of bacon falling to his plate. Peter wrinkled his nose in disgust. Stiles noticed it and pointed his finger at him. “No judgement! You know how rich people get on my nerves.”

“I’ve heard all about your Whittemore rants. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Yeaaaaah,” Stiles sighed into his breakfast. He gazed longingly at his laptop. “I’m killing one of them right now. It’s very cathartic.”

Peter set his fork and dagger on the plate after finishing his. He reached for the pomegranate juice. “Is that why you needed the book on accounting?”

“Exciting, right?”

“Very. You could kill someone with that.”

“Probably,” Stiles agreed. He eyed the book that was over six hundred pages and a remnant of a very ill-advised course taken in college. “Hit someone in the head and you would brain them. Would probably be messy though if hit in the right angle, like a blunt weapon. Not very stealthy.”

“Considered killing your professor?”

“Only every day.”

They both had a chuckle at that. Peter felt Stiles’ toes linger on his calf, rubbing the skin it found there. Stiles hummed, absently drinking the coffee Peter had given him.

“No, this time I’m thinking about killing someone with a paper weight… or a fridge magnet,” he said, eyes clouding. “It would be unexpected, something you wouldn’t even think about. Like, maybe it was a memento? Something from a nice trip or—or an event you didn’t want to forget. My—my dad had one of those.”

Stiles’ whole body slumped just enough for Peter to pick it up instantly. When Stiles’ cup came down, Peter reached to hold his hand. Stiles jumped a little as he was startled out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, I—sorry.”

Peter said nothing. Stiles turned his hand around and then they were holding each other.

“It wasn’t all that sharp or anything,” Stiles said quietly. “Nothing to talk about. But it was—how should I say it—like one of those things you open a bottle with? But heavier. The magnet was pretty strong too. I remember having trouble as a kid trying take it off the fridge. A good thing too, it wasn’t something to play with. Mom hid it and then it became a game to find it and... then she was gone. And when dad found it—it took us a while to put it back.

“And then it was gone with him.”

They sat there until the coffee had gone cold and the juice warm. Stiles reached up, hand shaking just a bit, and he rubbed the corner of his eye. Peter could see the bare fridge door from where he sat, uncluttered unlike the other domains of the house.

It was only when Stiles let Peter go that he did as well.

Stiles complained about having to research—Peter knew he loved it—but he still promised to bring him back some treats when he would return from his clients.

The kiss they exchanged was downright filthy. Peter could feel Stiles’ spirits rise, confirmed by the ferocious glee as yet another person got murdered by words and words alone.

Peter waved at the unmoving car where he knew he was being watched from. It didn’t follow him; only remained where it was, pretending not to be suspicious. Peter huffed in amusement when it disappeared from his rear-view mirror.

All those years in retirement had made him silver in the head, and not in the good way.

***

Peter left.

Good.

Chris stepped out the car and prowled forward. He knew Stilinski was still inside; he had been watching for a while, waiting for his opportunity. He knew Peter would oppose a meeting between them—he was protective of those he considered his and, unfortunately, Stilinski counted—so he had to be sure Peter wouldn’t interrupt when he did.

He slowed his steps. It wouldn’t do for him to ring the doorbell right after Peter left. He continued down the street and looked around the area as if he was just strolling. He greeted a couple of dog-walkers and there was even an older lady jogging. When he was relatively sure enough time had passed—but not too much, he didn’t want Peter coming back in the middle of it. He would scent him, certainly, but by that time Chris would hopefully be long gone.

He retraced his steps which brought him back to the house. It was one of the ordinary ones that belonged to the white picked fence kinds of people. A house where children should run around and be happy. Maybe there would even be a dog or two.

And the neighbourhood had no idea what lingered inside it.

He rang the bell. A loud curse trailed from the open window as did a sound not unlike a chair falling.

Stilinski opened the door, hand trailing down the frame. He looked at him, confused, with his hair stuck in all directions and the corner of his mouth stained with what could be either grease or coffee. A slob. They looked a little swollen too, which made something inside Chris twist.

This is what Peter settled with?

“Yes?” The man’s—although he looked more like a boy to Chris—voice was tired but welcoming, deceptively so, especially with a smile like that for a stranger, Chris catalogued. He was making a huge attempt at looking innocent. It was not, however, enough to deter him.

Chris smiled and thrust his hand forward.

“I’m Chris. Argent.”

It looked as if a light bulb had lit over the boy’s head.

“Oh. Oh! Allison’s dad. Of course, come in!” Stilinski waved his hand and took a step out of the way. Chris nodded—at least he had some manners, he thought—and did as prompted. He looked around, taking a quick look at the house Peter was living in before turning back to Stilinski who had closed the door with a click. He still had that same smile on his face.

“Something about the wedding, isn’t it?” Stilinski said. “Did Scott forget something? I swear, he’s all Allison up there right now. I mean, good for them, yeah? They’ll be nauseating as fuck. They already are. But in a good way!” he added hastily. Chris arched his brows, forehead creasing.

Stilinski looked like he wanted to swallow something and suffocate. Maybe his words. He would be doing the world a service if he did, Chris thought.

“So, uh, what _did_ Scott forget?” Stilinski rubbed the back of his head. His eyes flew wide. “Oh! I should offer you coffee. Peter’s always nagging me about my manners even if he’s the one raised by wolves.” Chris stiffened but Stilinski just brushed past him. “I mean, have you seen the way he stalks? It’s like he’s a predator and not human at all!”

Stilinski didn’t even pretend, then, to be unaware of the supernatural. He was practically flaunting his knowledge. Chris’ stance stayed relaxed though ready to pounce if needed. He was, after all, inside a serial killer’s lair.

“Do you drink coffee? Or tea? Or neither? We have this fancy juice that Peter likes—or not, he drank the whole bottle and left it there. Heathen. Just because I work from home doesn’t mean I have all the time in the world!”

Stilinski kept talking and flailing as he did, finally turning his back to him when Chris said, “Coffee’s fine.” He couldn’t help staring at the man. He just couldn’t see what drew Peter to him at all. What he did, however, notice was the laptop there, lying innocently on the table. And books.

Information.

He pretended to be interested in the décor—very mediocre with faded colours, old furniture and a picture wall, all very unlike Peter as Chris had quickly dismissed it earlier—but glanced at the screen when Stilinski was busy chatting and making the coffee.

And there, right in front of him, he described the next victim, mauled by what looked like a paperweight. Something small, something that could be missed… but not if someone knew what they were looking for.

Chris straightened and stepped back when he saw Stilinski glance at his direction. He was still yammering about something Allison and he had done in college—the words stabbed through Chris’ heart, having missed the time when his baby girl grew from the teen that left into the adult she was now—but he couldn’t focus well with the knowledge of Stilinski’s next murder burning in the back of his mind.

“—And then I said, really? You want to meet the human puppy? Alright, but you must promise me not to fall in love with him. And what did she do? She fell for him! I think this makes for a good speech, right? The good kind of ribbing but is still cute enough that they won’t be offended. Though let’s face it, they puke rainbows and twilight sparkles.”

Chris grunted something even he couldn’t translate. Stilinski twirled around, two cups in his hand. He placed them both on the table before fetching the coffee pot, filling them both. The sugar was already on the table, but Chris didn’t touch it. He preferred his black.

It seemed that Stilinski did as well since he chugged the cup back before pouring another.

“Man, I’m tired. Peter wore me ou—shit, sorry, something I forget I can actually close my mouth.” Stilinski mimed zipping his lips, almost sloshing his coffee. He then waved in Chris’ direction. Chris stared at him for a moment before realising that he wanted him to finally have a word.

He cleared his throat.

“This your family?” he said nonchalantly, waving in the direction of the picture wall on the corridor. Stiles’ expression pinched a bit.

“Yeah,” he said, more subdued. “My mom and my dad. They… are both gone now.”

“Oh,” Chris said. He already knew that based on his investigation but, “I’m sorry.”

Stilinski waved his hand, smile returning but it was dim in comparison to the previous one. “Yeah. When Mom died it was just so… sudden. And Dad too. If it wasn’t for the whole Sheriff’s station and Scott and… yeah, sorry. It’s been years, but it still feels like yesterday, you know?”

Oh, but did Chris know. The wounds Kate had split open had never really closed.

“My wife died suddenly too,” he offered gruffly. Stilinski nodded.

“Yeah. Allison told me about it. We really bonded with both of us having a mostly momless childhood and all that. Reaaaaally brings people together.”

Chris had to bite his cheek not to yell at him about the mothers he had killed, the fathers he had removed from other children’s lives. What sort of a psychopath was this person?

Abruptly, he stood up and quickly walked out the room. Stilinski followed him, confused.

“Where are you going? You didn’t even touch your coffee!”

As if he would. He wasn’t an idiot.

While the coffee may be the same, he had never seen what he did with the cup itself. He had to know Chris was onto him. He had to.

“Sorry, I remembered something I needed to do.”

“But you didn’t even—!”

The words were drowned as Chris shut the door behind him, leaving Stilinski with the pale yellow walls and pictures staring at him, the joy in the eyes turning into grief seeing the monster their son had turned into.

Chris grimaced but strode to his car.

At least he had a lead now.

***

Peter was in a good mood when he returned. The case wasn’t anywhere close to being over, but the Andersons had given him a sizable thank you in his bank account. He loved being independently wealthy from the pack. There was always something there, being able to buy whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and no one could question anything. He might be a part of the Hale pack, but he didn’t have to be married to it.

The first thing he saw was the missing car from the street. He wondered if three days of stalking had been enough for Chris. The nearer he got to the front door though made it clear that that was not it.

My my, Christopher had been a _bad_ boy today.

His keys tinkled as he fitted one of them into the keyhole. It opened with a quiet noise and Peter hummed, closing and locking it after him and throwing them into the bowl nearby.

It smelled faintly like Chris there, Peter noted absently. Not enough for him to have done anything suspicious but there was no hiding from a werewolf’s nose.

“Stiles, you awake?”

Something vaguely reminiscent of human speech could be heard from upstairs. Peter huffed in amusement. He leisurely walked up the stairs, hand trailing the railing. He followed the calm heartbeat that still rabbited far more often than a regular. It was a special beat that had always fascinated Peter. Because it was always the slightest bit elevated, most wolves and others supernaturally-inclined were wary when they met him. They never really could tell whether Stiles was lying to them or not.

It amused Peter to no end.

He found Stiles spread on their bed, head half-hidden beneath a pillow, still in the same clothes he had had on earlier that day. Peter eased his tie off and shrugged his jacket onto the chair.

“You’ll be glad to hear I’m leaving the Whittemores behind again.”

A mumble was all Peter heard. His lips twitched.

“I could see we had visitors. Are you cheating on me?”

Another incomprehensible sound.

“I’ve decided to live in celibate for the rest of my life.”

Suddenly Stiles was sitting ramrod-straight and staring at him with wide eyes.

“No!” he blurted out. “You’re not denying me the love of my life!”

Peter laid a hand on his chest. “This is all you care for?” he asked and then gestured towards his crotch. “My cock?”

“It’s a very nice cock,” Stiles assured him. Then he blinked as if a realisation had dawned on him and he corrected, “Also, sorry, the loves of my life. Your balls are very wonderful too.”

Peter rolled his eyes. He shimmied from his pants, resting them on the chair as well. Stiles’ eyes were now raking over his body, the warmth in them growing with every garment added to the pile.

The smirk on Peter’s face kept widening.

“Would you like to say hi?” he taunted, stepping next to the bed. Stiles rolled closer until his face was right by the bulge of Peter’s briefs.

“Hi,” Stiles whispered. He leaned forward, mouthing at the cloth. His head tilted up and he stared straight into Peter’s eyes. The heat was turning his eyes golden. It sent shivers down Peter’s spine.

The hint of teeth, gently pressing against the line of his cock, was enough. Peter pushed Stiles down, but the little tease rolled away, laughing, and curling himself into a blanket burrito. It took Peter a little bit of effort, especially with Stiles wiggling and being entirely unhelpful, but he managed to open him like a present—and the little extra pieces of clothing made their way to the floor pretty quickly as well.

Stiles kissed like he lived, with determination and passion. Peter answered in kind. He swallowed the moan Stiles let out when he reached between his legs and thumbed over the slit of Stiles’ cock. He teased it—partly in revenge, partly because he enjoyed the little noises Stiles made—while mouthing at Stiles’ neck before he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He let himself be turned onto his back, with Stiles sitting over his lap. Stiles’ lips were swollen and dark, skin tender where Peter had lavished attention on. There were marks on his skin from where Peter had bitten him earlier the week, bruises dotting his skin from hips to just shy of the neckline. As much as Peter would have liked to have his mark showcased to the world, he knew Stiles preferred less permanent ones…

For now.

Peter’s smirk widened as Stiles lifted himself up on his knees, just enough for him to hover over Peter’s cock. His hands were pressed against Peter’s abdomen so, gracious as he was, Peter reached down and guided his cock to trace Stiles’ hole. He could feel the slick already there. The realisation almost made Peter’s teeth lengthen.

Peter promised to himself, quietly, while groaning out Stiles’ name as he bottomed out. He closed his eyes momentarily, unable to keep them from flashing.

His mark might not be visible as of yet… but it would be.

Soon.

***

Chris marched to the station the next day. He had phoned a few friends who had called their friends until someone found someone else who owed them a favour. It had been a lengthy process—and secretive, Chris still didn’t know who had owed whom what—but the only thing he cared was that he got what he had been looking for.

The woman in the front looked unimpressed when he walked up to her.

“You have a file for me,” he said, lifting his chin. He dug out a piece of paper, the request written on it. As he did, he glanced at her name tag that read ‘Graeme’.

She leaned on her crossed arms, ignoring the paper, peering at him.

“I know,” she said. “And I also know that you are looking into someone our town cares a lot about. I would suggest you to be careful but with how openly you walked inside the Sheriff’s station, I don’t doubt that it would go unheard.”

Chris scowled. “I have nothing to hide,” he replied. And he didn’t. This would leave a paper trail just in case something might happen to him. People now knew he was looking into something… or someone. The Argents were still known around the hunting community, although they hadn’t been active since Chris had disbanded the clan after Gerard’s disappearance and Victoria and Kate’s deaths.

“You are new here,” Graeme just said. She absently scratched her cheek as she studied him. “Your daughter seems to be settling well here but you… you don’t have the right sort of mentality.”

And that was none of her business.

“My file, please.”

Graeme kept looking at him. Chris almost felt like an insect under an inspection.

“Nothing I say will make you change your mind,” she said. She took a file from the desk and stood up. The Sheriff’s star flashed under the light. Her eyes were hard. “Don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Argent, or you just might lose it.”

Chris didn’t even blink.

“Is that a threat?”

“Just a observation.” Graeme gave him one last look before turning her back on him. She walked away, throwing one last remark over her shoulder,

“This city cares for its own. Outsiders… not so much.”

Chris took his own leave, his mouth curled into an ugly line. He wondered briefly if maybe Graeme was right, that Stilinski might not be worth the trouble—but then Peter flashed before his eyes, the ice melted and unseen, and skin black as coal, howls forever silent. The way Kate had intended. He marched away, determination lengthening each step.

The file burned in his grasp, begging to be read.

***

It happened—yet again—in a grocery store. Peter and Stiles were looking for something to share before Peter would have to leave for a few weeks. They weren’t hurting in the financial department, not with the shared talent between them, but the case was both lucrative and offered enough connections that they knew Peter would have to take it. If—and when—he won, it would open more doors than the Hale name could itself. Talia, with her more local clientele, would be green with envy.

Peter lived to overshadow her sister in any way he could.

Just as any respectable younger sibling would.

Maybe that’s why Cora was his favourite. She _lived_ to throw shade at Laura. He would have to call and ask her to visit Stiles a couple of times a week to make sure he was eating. Stiles had just gotten his edits back and Peter knew he would live like a college student if he could. With Scott and Allison busy as they were, Peter knew he couldn’t count on them.

While Peter was mulling over the merits of green and red apples, he saw Chris enter the shop. Chris’ gaze immediately sought out Stiles and his expression darkened considerably.

Peter waited, curious—even a little excited.

What would Chris do?

He didn’t have to wait long to see for himself. Mere seconds came to pass before Chris advanced towards Stiles. As soon as he was in the hearing distance, Chris opened his mouth, startling Stiles and making him drop the package he had been reading. When Chris continued, undeterred, Stiles raised his hands in a general peace sign. They were talking about something—Peter couldn’t hear what—but when Stiles took a step _back_ Peter knew it was time to interfere. He put down the basket and hastened his steps, only to hear Chris say:

“—know it’s you! Your father would be _ashamed_ of you!”

“Please,” Stiles said, eyes wide. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“They are exactly the way you wrote them!” Chris insisted. He took another step forward, hand raised as he continued speaking.

Stiles didn’t take any more steps back but only because a pyramid of cans was right behind him.

“I know about your father. Do you think he would have wanted you to ruin his legacy like _this_? You have a connection there, I know it, if you didn’t commit them yourself. I swear, if you don’t confess, at least leave Peter alone—!”

“Chris,” Peter said coldly, finally reaching them. He laid a hand on Chris’ shoulder, pushing him back, and inserting himself between Stiles and him. “I told you to leave it.”

Chris had the gall to look offended. He pointed at Peter.

“You know I’m right! Why can’t you _see_ it?”

Peter just shook his head. He saw how they were starting to gather attention. He raised his voice, letting it carry out for the eavesdroppers. “Just leave us alone. I don’t know why you think Stiles of all people has something to do with the murders—that aren’t even _connected_ to each other—but it’s starting to get too much. Just… focus on your daughter and her wedding.” Peter sighed. Stiles grabbed his hand, holding it for support. He flashed him a quick smile over his shoulder.

When he looked back, Chris’ expression had darkened severely and he glared past Peter. Peter tugged at Stiles and they started moving towards the cashiers with the groceries they already had. They could pop by the smaller store nearby to fetch the rest. A manager passed them, walking towards where they had left the commotion.

“This isn’t over,” Chris said behind them, probably to himself, but Peter could still hear him. He could feel his eyes on them even as they left the store.

“Whoa,” Stiles said once they sat in their car, falling against the seat, his eyes wide. “I cannot _believe_ you once tapped that!”

Peter couldn’t help it.

He laughed.

“Sometimes, sweetheart, I cannot either.”

***

Chris was angry. He was just as angry as he was afraid, and his fear kept fuelling his fury which fed his straining nerves. It was a vicious circle that he just couldn’t break.

The victims… he finally had names for them. Names of the people Stilinski had murdered in cold blood, families broken, for the sick and twisted game that he was blaming. Names—

Names that Chris knew by heart.

Except for Adrian Harris and Garrison Myers, he knew every single one of them. Alexander Goshew. Matt Matthers. Fiona Esteban. The file wasn’t comprehensive but enough for Chris to take a shaky breath and start calling numbers he hadn’t called for years. With each call that was left unanswered and disconnected, he added names to the ever-growing list of victims.

Unger Smith. Reddick Bisset. Marie-Anne Martin. Gregory Took.

Chris bit his lip, hard. He could taste the blood. He wiped his brow, the sweat a sign of his anxiety mixing with impotent frustration.

Gloria Parkinson. Benjamin Voss. Alfons Comtois.

No one. Not a single one connected. He could see the growing number of unanswered calls of his own, Allison trying to reach him. He regretfully let them go into the voice mail before picking another number and letting it ring.

Only three names remaining.

Meredith Reed. Leo Peck. Henry—

The call connected. Chris’ eyes fell open in shock, his jaw dropping as a familiar voice asked him, “What do you want?”

“Cavill. Wait, please. I need to you to listen to me very carefully now…”

***

Allison called the next day.

“I’m so sorry,” she kept saying as Stiles baked, having his phone on speaker. Peter poured over his clients’ papers, listening with half an ear. “I really don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles said absently, focusing on kneading the dough. “Maybe the hours have taken their toll. Heavens know my dad—well.”

“No, it’s something more.” Her tinny voice sounded worried. “He’s been weird about this for months. I would have thought, with the wedding—but no, it’s like he’s got to prove something to someone. He hasn’t been this bad since mom and Aunt Kate died.”

Stiles stuck his tongue between his teeth, expression clouding.

“I know how you feel.”

Allison went quiet. She said gently, repeating, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles said. “Just—maybe try talking to him again? Otherwise it’s going to be weird in two months, the father walking down the aisle glaring down the best man. Man, think about the drama that would start! You’d think I was having an affair with you!”

She giggled. It was a pretty cute one if you were into that. “Or Scott.”

“Dude, no. Scott’s a bro but there are limits to where brodom goes and that’s one of them. Besides, I know how he kisses. No way, you’ll have him all to yourself while I have my own hottie.”

“Some might say something about protesting too much.”

“Allison,” Stiles whined. Allison giggled again.

“I’ll try talking to him again.”

“’preciated. I’ll have you some cookies when you pop by tomorrow.”

“The minty ones?”

“And the ones Scott likes too.”

“You are the best! And the worst. Keep this up and I’ll be too big for my dress when the day comes.”

Stiles groaned dramatically, doughy hand slapping against his chest. “Alas, my plan has been found out! Where will I now get my own wedding dress at such a discount?”

One could hear the fondness bleed through the phone when Allison said, “See you tomorrow, Mischief.

“Bye Ally-cat.”

Stiles hummed as the list he had been listening to returned, swinging his hips along with the beat. Peter’s eyes traced the movement and, if the curve of Stiles’ lips was to be believed, he knew it too.

Well.

Once the cookies were waiting their turn at the oven, there was always time for some fun to be had.

***

Chris waited anxiously. It had been three days since his call to Cavill and, aside from a few texts, it had been radio silence through and through. Cavill was the last Argent hunter left. The paperweight man, according to Stilinski’s book. He still didn’t know why he targeted former hunters. Perhaps in his own twisted sense of justice, corrupted from how Stilinski’s father had instilled in it? From what he had found out, the former Sheriff had been an upstanding citizen, very much unlike his son.

His fingers tapped the table. He wished he had his gun with him but that had been Alpha Hale’s stipulation for entering her territory. He understood, of course; she didn’t have fond memories of the Argents. Now, though, Chris wished that what he had done for the Hales after Kate would have transferred into some good will and made him an exception to the rule.

Alas.

He had kept track of the Hales after Kate’s attempt at burning their house down… and them with it. If he ever heard of a threat against them, he sent them a heads-up. It was the least he could do. And when he had seen the killings that no one else seemed to connect to each other, along with what had led him to them, he knew there had been more to the story there. And that road had led him to Stilinski… and Peter.

If he just had his gun. He could just explain himself afterwards.

But then Allison would be sad.

He needed to prove it once and for all and then—then, he could rest.

He didn’t care that the people of Beacon Hills gave him a cold shoulder, whispered behind his back, even harassed him once or twice. He cared for none of that.

But what he was, was worried.

He tapped the table again and thumbed at his phone.

Nothing.

Fuck, Cavill, he thought. Where are you?

***

Peter couldn’t help the smug smile from spreading on his lips. The whine in Stiles’ voice was so endearing.

“But I miss you! No one knows how to make my coffee the way I like it!”

“You just like it black,” Peter huffed in amusement. “That’s not rocket science.”

“But they don’t know how black is my black,” Stiles replied. “It’s sucks! And I hate the general blacks in the shops. They are either too sweet or just plain burned.”

Peter cooed, falling into baby talk. “Oh, poor wittle bittle ‘tiles. Is it just not to your liking?”

“Peterrrrr!” Peter could hear the pout. He couldn’t help laughing again. It had become almost a habit for him.

Not that he was complaining. Much. At least behind closed doors.

He had a reputation to hold up after all.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Stiles grumbled. He sighed on the other end of the line. “I just… it’s sort of weird. I know your jobs requires you to travel but I hate being stuck here. I wish I could have come with you.”

“How’s the writing going?”

“Not as well when you’re not here making me dinner. But alright I guess.”

“Do you think…?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, voice carrying the thoughtful hum with it. He mused, “I think this might be the last one. I’m kind of getting bored with writing overall. It was fun while it lasted but with how everything’s going… I think I would be ready for something else now. Something bigger, less fickle.”

If wolves knew how to purr, Peter was sure he would have. As it was, he was growling under his breath, subvocal and rumbling. Saliva filled his mouth and he wanted to _bite_ —

“I’m sure you’ll find something to engage that brilliant mind of yours,” he said after he swallowed, though his throat still went dry.

Stiles’ laugh sounded coy, even mischievous.

“I’m sure,” he agreed, and then added, “Maybe you can even help me with it.”

Peter closed his eyes and, when he opened them, they glowed a brighter blue than usual.

“Maybe I will.”

***

“Are you still working?” Chris asked when he returned to Allison and Scott’s house. He had gone out to clear his head but when he returned, Allison was still on her computer. Scott was out with his mother, but Allison had stayed home for some reason.

“Mmm,” she just said, fingers flying on the keyboard. “I just wanted to get this done for today.”

“I thought you left accounting to the office.”

“Not that kind of work,” came her distracted answer. She paused, stretching her fingers. “I just, I know when Missy’s on a roll and I don’t want to be the one to cause him to fall off of it.”

Chris halted, eyes narrowing.

“Missy?”

Allison froze and that was confirmation enough. Chris strode to the couch, managing to see just enough to read someone being ‘strangled to death’ before Allison slammed her laptop shut.

“What’s wrong with you?!” she said rigidly, setting the computer out of Chris’ reach. “You’ve been so weird about Stiles that I just—I can’t believe you! _Harassing_ my best friend in our local supermarket! I shop there and now _I’m_ getting all these _weird looks because of you_!”

“Allison—” Chris tried but she cut him off.

“No!” Allison stood up, facing him. “No, _you_ listen to me for once! I’ve been— _very_ patient with you. I get it, things are different here than in New York. I get that you didn’t want to return to California. But I’m happy here, dad! Why can’t you see it?”

“I see it!” he insisted, shocked. He had never seen her this mad, not even when he told her that her mother was dead, that Kate might be too. Not when they moved away and all the fun uncles and aunts disappeared from their lives too. Not when they moved around a lot until she decided to return to California—without him. “I see it, I just—”

“You just what?” Allison pointed at his chest, flush crawling up her neck to her cheeks. “ _What_? Claim that my best friend is a murderer! In front of all these people he’s grown up around! You don’t just get to come to _my home_ , the place that’s been more home to me more these past couple of years than _anywhere_ ever has and try to make me _leave again_.”

Chris startled, his eyes flying wide with hurt. Tears spilled down Allison’s cheeks.

“I want my kind and generous dad back,” she whispered, quieter this time. “I want him to be excited about my wedding and just be happy for me. The entire time you’ve been here, _the entire time_ , you’ve been going on and on about Mischief and—and I can’t deal with it anymore.”

She hiccupped and pointed at the door, hand wavering. “Just—just go. Please.”

Chris took a step towards her, arm rising. “Allison—”

“Go!” Allison yelled before bursting into a loud sob. Chris was there instantly, hugging her close. She fisted his cardigan, bawling into his shoulder. He kept petting her hair, whispering, his own eyes wet too.

They stood there for a long time. Each one of Allison’s sad little noises chipped a piece off Chris’ heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the ticking clock on the wall. It stared back at him, reminding how little time he actually had.

The strangling matched yet another one of the murders on his list.

“I’m sorry.”

***

When Peter returned from New York—victorious as always—he was immediately greeted warmly when he passed by Stiles’ favourite diner. The lovely owner of the establishment even left the till to kiss his cheeks welcome.

“Your presence has been missed heavily, Hale!” she exclaimed. Peter smirked.

“Leaving your husband for me, aren’t you, Greta?”

“Well, a strapping young man as you are…!” She reached over and squeezed Peter’s bicep. He flexed it, just for her, and heard her squeal followed by the raucous laughter when her daughter walked by them, carrying plates full of greasy goodness Stiles was always so fond of.

“Watch out, mama!” her daughter called out. “He’ll eat you out of house!”

Greta laughed again, just as wildly as she had been laughed at.

“He’s welcome to buy me into retirement if he so wishes!”

“Don’t kid around,” a man yelled. “You’d be bored within a month!”

“A week!” her daughter yelled back, correcting the man. The laugh spread over the whole place, other customers joining in with joy. Greta harrumphed and hemmed and hawed but her theatrical performance only increased the noise.

At last she turned back to Peter. “What can I get you? Your boy has been pretty lonely the times he’s been here.”

Peter pretended to look surprised. “What? He left the _house_? You’re the one stealing the men around here, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged!” Greta claimed happily, waddling back behind the counter. She fumbled around before procuring a writing pad and a tugged a pen from behind her ear. “Now, I already know the extra-large curly fries is on the list but what’s the choice for today?”

Peter scanned the menu he was already very familiar with.

“Put a double-cheese burger, extra patty, on it and… let’s say, the Sheriff’s choice.”

Greta nodded, writing it down. She ripped the page off and handed it to her daughter as she made her way back to the kitchen.

“Coming up!” she said. “That’ll be 23 and forget the rest.”

Peter handed her two twenties, waving it off when she tried to return the rest. “I just had a very lucrative trip. Let me treat Stiles’ favourite establishment around town.”

Greta’s grin took a softer turn. It didn’t take long before the order was ready and piping-hot in Peter’s hands.

“In Beacon Hills we look after our own,” Greta said, wistful twist on her lips. Peter tipped his imaginary hat and stepped outside with a bag larger and heavier than he had ordered. Apple pie, if his nose didn’t lie to him—and it never did.

Chris’ car wasn’t there when he arrived home. However, he did see a half a footprint of reasonable size—obviously a man’s, but with just a bit lighter step than Stiles’ was.

Something had spooked their resident stalker, making him careless.

Peter smiled as he fished out his keys and walked in the door. He could hear off-key singing and rushing water. Placing the food on the counter, he turned around for some plates and cutlery.

Just because the food wasn’t fine dining didn’t mean they had to eat like wolves.

He heard the shower go off and a bang along with a groan following it immediately. Peter rolled his eyes. Only Stiles.

The bathroom door slammed open. A few stomps later all noise ceased. It was like he had realised he was no longer alone in the house. The steps suddenly picked up, coming closer with worrying speed. Peter listened, grin spreading on his lips as Stiles barrelled into the kitchen.

“Peter!” Stiles yelled and jumped on Peter’s back. Peter grunted, feigning hurt, though Stiles barely registered as a weight on his shoulders. “You’re back.”

“So it would seem.”

“Even early!”

“Someone has to make your coffee.”

“And bringing me the goooooods,” Stiles drawled, chin setting on Peter’s shoulder as he stared at the pile of curly fries and the burgers next to it. “And food too.”

Peter smirked, feigning hurt, and said, “Sometimes I think you’re just in this for my money and good looks.”

Stiles twisted around enough to kiss Peter’s neck, just beneath his chin.

“Don’t worry, it’s the whole package I’m after,” he whispered. The words trailed pleasantly down Peter’s spine. Then he bounded off towards the food. “Oooh, a pie as well! You shouldn’t have. Did you get me anything on your trip?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Peter could hear Stiles getting ready to whine but he just turned around and tugging him into a hungry kiss. The whine turned into a moan instead.

When they finally got down to eat, the food was already cold.

***

Chris stared at his stacks of papers. He had finally gathered every piece of evidence needed and it still didn’t make all that much sense. He would have suspected that Stilinski had magic but, even so, his research claimed teleportation just wasn’t a thing. Only the earliest killings matched with Stilinski’s own schedules; around the fifth and sixth murder, the trail had died, and it appeared as if Stilinski had been a model citizen. There were some unaccountable moments in his research but not long enough to transport him between coasts…

It had been a farfetched idea to start with, considering nothing he had dug out from Stilinski’s childhood suggested the familiar outbursts of magic, but… how else was he committing these?

In his frustration he had even suspected Peter but—

Chris shook his head. Peter was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a murderer. Protective of his pack with a mean streak miles wide but the Peter Chris knew wouldn’t do something like… this. And Talia would have sensed any interfering magic through their bond, strained as he knew it was. Peter had always cursed Talia for suffocating him. Despite being siblings, the two couldn’t be more different. Chris suspected privately that it might have been due to the years between them, but Peter had never been open about his reasons past the temper tantrums.

He remembered once asking if Peter ever wanted to go back to Beacon Hills. Peter’s mouth had twisted into a smile that wasn’t the one Chris had become familiar with. The only thing he had answered to that had been a short, “Not for her.”

Chris had filled the rest himself, just like usual. He wondered why Peter had left then, aside from now wanting to settle down. Their last fight had been left unresolved and, in spite of the few drinks shared after, it had been left festering. Chris could admit that his love life after Peter had been disappointing. He kept measuring everyone to him.

No one had the same smile. No one was as passionate about their interests. No one was as—

Memories were like kissing air.

He pushed Peter from his thoughts, picking up one of the files again; the one that started it all. He took out the short message that had been slipped into his P.O. box and tried to see whether he could pick anything at all from it but no.

It just read, _The Hale pack is in danger. Look up Mieczysław Stilinski_.

And he had. He didn’t know which of his contacts had sent it but it had opened a floodgate that wouldn’t close. Stilinski was after something; perhaps he was blaming the Argents and the Hales for what happened to his family, though Chris didn’t know why. His mother had died suddenly from an illness and his father had died in an accident on the Hale lands. And it had _been_ an accident, according to all Chris’ sources.

There was nothing more to them than that.

Chris rubbed his eyes and then a bright, happy laugh woke him from his morose thoughts.

Allison.

He pushed back his chair and came out the guest room he was staying in, following the noise downstairs.

He could use a distraction from all that.

***

Peter sat on the couch, drinking an unsatisfying beer with Stiles’ equally engaging best friend. He still couldn’t tell why and how the two were friends but, well. The little idiot apparently made Stiles happy, so Peter had learned to appreciate that if not anything else.

Not surprising, Scott was just as oblivious to Peter’s dislike as ever. A good thing, probably; it would’ve been awkward to sit there otherwise. Currently he was talking about a mix of the wedding arrangements and the baseball match on TV. It was a little surprising how he hadn’t said a word about Allison herself this time… though with the wedding, she was probably implied. Peter had known during the first time really meeting the man that he was one of those people who told everyone they were married in the first five minutes. It was disgusting.

The white picked fence people made Peter sick.

He listened to Scott talk just enough that he could hum and agree in appropriate places though most of his focus was on Stiles, as always. He was in the corridor with Allison, within sight but far enough for them to be outside regular hearing distance with the television on. The keyword being ‘regular’; he could still hear everything that went on there, with none the wiser.

The perks of being a werewolf.

“—you sure?”

“Ally-cat, please. When have I ever steered you wrong?” Stiles sounded offended but the smile on his face spoke another story. The dimples on Allison’s cheeks deepened.

“Oh, should I have brought a list?” she teased, glancing at where Peter sat. Her eyes twinkled. “There was this one time during second week of freshman year—”

Stiles interrupted her hastily, “Noooooo, no, no need. I get it, you’re the princess of the palace and I just the lowly jester. Please, forgive me, your highness.” He bowed deep.

Allison pouted at him. “Why not queen?”

“That title only ever belongs to miss Lydia of the Martins,” Stiles replied, standing straight once more. Allison sighed.

“I swear, the more I hear about this woman… You think she might finally come down again? I think Scott said there was some sort of high school event for you guys.”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. You could try hitting her up online; she’s very active on Twitter. To be honest, I don’t know why she would ever come back. She’s probably busy making waves in the world of mathematics.” He pretended to gag. Allison rolled her eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with numbers.”

“Says the accountant.”

Allison shoved at him, but Stiles evaded, knocking into the wall. He groaned loud, rubbing his shoulder.

“Abuse!” he called out. “Call the police!”

“I don’t think this fits the criteria for domestic abuse,” Peter quipped from his place and sipped his beer. It was starting to lose all its cold. Stiles threw a dramatic hand towards Scott.

“My dashing Puppy Knight, brother from another mother, dare you save my honour?”

Scott’s curls—which he had grown out while attempting, and failing, to grow a beard—shook as he giggled like a little girl. Peter couldn’t help wrinkling his nose.

“I think he might know where his place really is” Allison said. She winked at Scott who, in turn, flushed happily.

And _that_ implied something Peter _really_ didn’t want to know, based on the sudden burst of smells emanating from the person sitting next to him.

Sun, moon, and truth, he hated that man.

He was distracted enough with his disgust that he only took notice of the changing atmosphere when Stiles ruffled his own hair and heat kept creeping up his neckline. Allison gasped, hands covering her mouth.

“You don’t— _are you_ —?”

“I mean, maybe?” Stiles said lowly, wincing, but a pleased smile spread on his face. “He hasn’t asked yet but… I think, maybe. Soon.”

Allison squealed, jumping up and down. She rushed forward and threw her arms around him, giggling in excitement against his shoulder.

“It’s nothing official yet, but—”

“Stiles, you’ve been together for years,” Allison said. She pulled back just enough for her gaze to meet his. “He’s just waiting for the right moment. Oh, _Stiles_. Who will walk you down the aisle? Do you want me to do it? Or Scott? Melissa would do it in a heartbeat too—”

“What’s the commotion?”

Peter leaned back on the couch. He had known that Christopher was in the house as well, having smelled him, but since he hadn’t made an appearance, Peter wasn’t about to stir the nest. Now that he was, though…

Peter leaned back on the cushions. He swallowed the beginnings of the smirk and just enjoyed the show.

“Uh,” Allison said eloquently. She looked like she was ready to burst but, with the way her father kept shooting daggers at her best friend, Peter mused that she might think this could be the wrong time to—

“Stiles is maybe getting married too.”

Peter blinked even as Chris froze. Well.

Clearly there was some things he still needed to learn about the Argent scion.

As the initial shock lessened, Chris’ eyes snapped on Peter who just raised his lukewarm beer to him in a salute. The expression on Chris’ face darkened like the clouds just before a thunderstorm and, just like it, he stormed back upstairs, leaving behind a miserable but an unapologetic Allison and a Stiles with unreadable look on his face.

Scott threw Peter his own branch of an apologetic look and he set down his drink. He walked to Allison, pressing a hand on her shoulder, before following after Chris.

“Hey, at least we still have the scheduled wedding drama going on as planned?” Stiles joked. Allison giggled weakly, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Stiles patted her arm awkwardly.

“Come on, you wanted us here to talk about the cake. Let me tell you, I’m really hungry for some cake now. A cake-sized hole in my stomach, ready to be filled through my hopefully soon cake-filled mouth.”

Allison shook her head. Some of her sadness lifted from her scent. Peter rose from the couch gracefully and brushed past them into the kitchen.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve won the Hale family special dessert prize four years in a row,” Peter said, adding a layer of haughtiness into his voice. “With me here, I’m certain we’ll make the best cake there is.”

A smile tugged on Allison’s lips. “What does that include?”

Stiles leaned forward, and he whispered, “A bottomless stomach.”

Allison didn’t even try to hide her giggles. Peter sniffed.

“My taste buds are _impeccable_.”

“Yes, dear,” Stiles said dutifully. Allison shoved him and wiggled her brows.

 _Soon_ , she mouthed. Stiles shoved her back. Peter couldn’t help but agree to her sentiment as he stared at the real prize amongst all the cakes.

Soon.

***

Chris left quickly after, dodging Allison’s fiancé’s obvious attempts to make him like Stilinski. He hated having the supposed good sides of the serial killer preached at him, especially by a man as oblivious as McCall. Not for the first time, Chris found himself missing Victoria. She would have known how to deal with a spineless man like that and probably talk sense into Allison in her no-nonsense way.

They may not have had a love match, but they had still cared about each other—and Allison twice more. When she had disappeared in the hunting trip, only for her body to be found disfigured and mangled months later, Chris had died a little inside. He had never found the courage to tell Allison the gruesome details, especially not when she was never introduced to the hunting life in the beginning.

And then Peter—

Chris’ mouth formed a narrow line.

He needed to do something and quick. He had no idea how Stilinski had managed to manipulate _Peter_ into anything but, somehow, he had done it. Peter was an intelligent man, sharp and cruel at times, but never slow, so Chris couldn’t see how he could be so oblivious to Stilinski’s agenda—and how much he resembled Kate before she revealed her true colours.

Chris squared his shoulders and nodded. This decided it. It was time.

The next day he would have to go to the Alpha herself and bring this web down with him.

***

Peter grunted and then whined when he felt Stiles shift on top of him. Even though he was a werewolf, his legs were burning from being on the same position for hours on end.

Stiles hushed him. The little caresses on Peter’s ribcage only made his leaking cock harder. Stiles rubbed at his entrance again. He had been ready an hour ago but, still, Stiles only teased him despite Peter feeling his own desire pressing against his back.

“You are so good to me, aren’t you?” Stiles whispered, breath cool on Peter’s sweaty skin. Peter wanted nothing more than to turn around and fuck into Stiles, but today wasn’t about that.

Today—

Today was about—

Peter made a noise close to begging, unable to swallow the noise. Stiles hummed again. His hand circled around Peter’s cock, right at the base, as he pressed two of his fingers inside Peter once more. He kept rubbing at the sensitive walls and even more sensitive ball of nerves that made Peter’s cock jump. He was close enough to come, he knew he was, but the hand holding him tightly left his toes curled and entire body electrified.

One mean jab sent Peter forward, falling to his elbows. He panted.

Stiles withdrew his fingers and Peter slumped, this time unable to stop the beg that spilled from his lips.

He could hear the gracious smile in Stiles’ voice.

“Soon,” he said benevolently, and then Peter felt—finally—the main event press against him and slip inside with ease. Peter groaned as Stiles’ cock buried deep inside him, filling the ache that had gnawed him since they started.

Stiles leaned over Peter’s back and pressed a soft kiss on the nape of his neck.

“Soon,” he promised again, and slowly thrusted forward. Peter’s eyes fell half-closed.

 _Soon_.

***

“Thank you for meeting me, Alpha Hale,” Chris said as soon as he reached her. Talia Hale was an imposing woman dressed in comfortable clothes. She seemed friendly and kind, made one feel welcome, until one made a mistake and angered her.

Chris had seen her angry only once in his life.

He never wanted to see her that way again.

He knew his heartrate was steady—faster than usual but steady—when he shook her hand. Talia gave him that warm smile of hers. He would like to say they were friendly enough with each other. She had always been cordial when he sent her messages or even called her in emergencies, telling her about the hunts he had heard concerning her and her own.

Talia was ruthless but fair. She was a good alpha.

Which is why he had come to her in any case.

“Mr. Argent,” Talia greeted him back. She gestured him to follow her as she swept inside the separate smaller building next to the Hale house. It was newer than the one Kate had attempted to burn, perhaps something they had built after the event so business was kept outside pack house. Also, there were no overhearing ears.

He saw Talia’s husband and, surprisingly, Derek inside as well. They just stood there, silent, as Talia spun around and sat on a chair between them. As if she was the queen and they were her left and right hands.

Chris’ eyes lingered on Derek. The left side was traditionally left for the pack enforcer. He hadn’t thought the kid had had it in him. Maybe Kate’s influence—

“I doubt this was a social call,” Talia said, directing Chris’ attention back to her. Chris nodded as his eyes left Derek and met Talia’s warmer green shades.

“Unfortunately not,” he agreed. “I’m here to express concern over a threat close to you and yours, Alpha Hale.”

Talia didn’t move but the wolves behind her stiffened. With calm that belied her thoughts, she asked, “What threat are you talking about?”

“Stiles Stilinski.”

Talia blinked.

“What about him?”

“I believe he’s going to finish what—” Chris’ gaze flickered on Derek and he squared his shoulders. “—What Kate started.”

Derek immediately shifted but Chris’ attention was back on Talia. She sat there, visibly relaxed, but the look in her eyes was sharp.

“And why do you think so?”

It wasn’t an invitation; it was an order.

Chris started slowly how he had gotten a message from one of his contacts, getting concerned over the unsolved deaths and finding out the common link, which then led to the murder mysteries… and Peter. He explained, without revealing his sources, how he had pieced together the puzzle that was Stiles Stilinski and how he was afraid it would culminate in the Hales’ doom.

Talia didn’t speak while Chris explained himself. He did glance at Derek, who was looking more and more sullen, and Talia’s husband, who started shifting on his legs, but unlike them Talia didn’t move a muscle. Even when Chris fell silent, she still said nothing. She merely stared at him, fingers crossed over her knee.

“And how did murdering the former Argent hunters come to mean killing us?” she finally asked. It was reasonable, Chris knew, and he had pondered on that too. However—

“Revenge. I think that, maybe, the reason you are still alive despite being a closer target is that he’s using you,” he said slowly. “Peter—Peter’s smart, but I think Stilinski has managed to get him under his grip. Have you noticed anything different with your brother?”

This was the moment Talia faltered, just enough for Chris’ sharp eyes to pick out the slight wince.

“He’s never here, mom,” Derek said quietly. Talia’s husband looked grim as well.

Talia took a deep breath. Her gaze pierced Chris’.

“Stiles has been good for Peter,” she said, challenging. She watched Chris and he realised she wanted him to reciprocate, to throw out the ideas until they had the full picture, to share the pool of knowledge until they had the bottom of the issue.

He could do that. He could definitely do that.

Talia continued, “Peter has mellowed since he began to go out with Stiles. I have never seen him happier.”

That… hurt, Chris had to admit. But Talia probably didn’t even know he and Peter went out years ago. It wasn’t probably even a good idea to bring it up, lest he sound like a jealous maniac.

“Stilinski is only in for the information,” he said. “The safety. The Sheriff, his father, I read the file on his murder. I found a few leads that never went anywhere with the resources regular people have but… I think he’s blaming the hunters and the supernatural for his father’s death and killing them in revenge. He’s—I think he’s finished with the Argents, now.

“There are only the Hales left.”

“You are left,” Talia pointed out. Chris shrugged.

“His best friend is marrying Allison. I think that’s giving me a sort of immunity there.”

“And all the rest are dead.”

“I don’t know if the murders will continue after…” Chris’ words trailed off. Derek stormed past them, brows in a scowl and tension bleeding from his stance. Talia nodded at her husband who sighed and walked out after their son.

Chris swallowed, “I apologise. Had I known…”

“You couldn’t have.” She leaned back on her chair and Chris noticed her relaxing minutely, as if finally trusting in him.

He felt hope.

“I knew something was going on but—Stiles, really?” Talia murmured. “He’s such a sweetheart. And despite—he’s been there for Peter. If they hadn’t met, I don’t know where Peter might be today…”

The little ugliness inside Chris tried to rise again. He shoved it down, stomping on it and locking it away for good measure.

“But you know I’m speaking the truth.”

Talia hesitated before slowly admitting, “Peter has become more isolated in recent years. I thought that, maybe, it was Stiles that grounded him but… are you really sure?”

Chris nodded. Talia took a shaky breath before her back straightened again.

“Do you think you could send me your research?”

He nodded quickly. “Whenever you want but it’s still incomplete. I’m still waiting for one of my former hunters, the last of them, to contact me but he… hasn’t, for a while. He might be dead. I can give you the complete version in less than two weeks.”

The skin around Talia’s eyes tightened. “Make it one. It’s the full moon next week and we’ll all be here as witnesses. If you are right about Stiles, then… Do you have anything that could be used against a magic user like that? Alan once told me about ritual knives made of pure silver, blessed by the Sun and the Moon. Do you think…?”

Talia was forcing a confrontation. Chris couldn’t breath for a moment, the relief so strong. He did the calculations and—he might be cutting it close and he might have to pull a few all-nighters but—yes, he could do that.

“I know of one that you speak of,” he said, and then bowed. “Thank you, Alpha Hale, for listening to me.”

Talia inclined her head regally, her brown locks barely moving. She was again the picture of the strong, honourable alpha Chris knew her to be, spine of steel and honour woven in her bones.

And when he left, there was a smile on his face that wouldn’t wipe off his face.

***

Stiles lay on his stomach, idly drawing pictures on Peter’s. Peter was still, feeling the feather-light touches that should have tickled but felt like branding instead.

It was an intoxicating feeling.

“Have you thought about it?” he asked, breaking the silence around them. The touches stopped, briefly, before continuing again.

“Do you think it’s time for us to take the next step?” Stiles asked. He shifted so he could sit on Peter’s lap, tucking his head on his shoulder.

Peter pressed a kiss on his head.

“It’s all yours, sweetheart,” he said. Stiles moved again and sighed. He laced their fingers together.

“Okay.” Then Stiles nodded. With his other hand, he caressed the skin on the back of Peter’s neck. It sent shivers down Peter’s back and the wolf inside him wanted to show his belly to the man before him. Peter did no such thing, of course, but if there was one person he would—

It would be Stiles.

Stiles nodded again.

“Okay.”

***

Chris waited. He waited. And he waited.

There had been no word on Cavill until one of the hunter networks contacted him, confirming that he was, indeed, dead. Curiously, the message said, he had been killed with something small but hard, though they had no idea what that had been.

Just as Chris had feared he had been, though he hadn’t voiced it for anyone but himself and the papers in front of him.

The dagger had arrived the next day, with only two words attached to it:

 _Be careful_.

He stared at them, the dagger and his papers, and they stared back at him, mocking his impotence. It was a full moon today and he was already cutting it close, but he still lingered. Waited for something, though there was nothing to wait.

Chris didn’t know why he was hesitating. He had already gone this far, and Stilinski had done such awful deeds. He deserved to rot in jail or get whatever Talia and the Hales would do to him. Allison would be fine. She was a fine woman and she would be back on her feet when she’d hear what Stilinski had done. She was already making fast friends with another woman, the name starting with an L, when they had spoken earlier that day. Peter would manage as well; he always did, landing on his feet after impossible odds. Perhaps he would even understand Chris after this. Perhaps—

His head hit the wall. At some point he had forgone chairs altogether and just sat on the floor. It was starting to hurt his back.

The clock kept ticking.

Chris pressed send.

And then he was waiting again.

No more than a minute later a box popped into existence on the right corner of the screen. He clicked it, finding a message that read:

 _9pm_.

Chris glanced at the time. It was three. Talia was working fast but it still left Chris with six hours to kill.

He sighed. This was officially out of his hands now.

A shower and a meal would help calm his nerves. No drink though; he wanted to stay clearheaded today. Perhaps he would even cook his favourites. No, he would go to the restaurant chain he and Victoria used to visit years ago. He had seen it when he had first driven to Beacon Hills. He would ask Allison to come with him and tell her he would be going away for the weekend, to look for a wedding gift.

He quickly sent the message and Allison answered promptly as always.

_Are you going to be yourself today?_

Chris grimaced slightly. _I promise not to bring it up again._

_Then sure. Just the two of us?_

_Yes,_ he said. _I want to treat you._

_:) What time? Love you, daddy!_

Chris texted him the details, only getting hearts sent back. He powered down his laptop and trotted to the shower. The warm water felt heavenly on his skin, as if washing off years of stress and anxiety.

Today, everything would be over.

For good or bad.

***

Peter thumbed his phone. “Talia just messaged me. She wants us by the pack house at 10pm.”

Stiles peeked from the kitchen. “Both of us?” he asked.

“She specified that, yes.”

The hum he got as an answer was contemplative, even excited.

“Sure.”

***

Chris woke up slowly to the low light hanging above him. He groaned, and immediately the glare was directed straight at him. He squeezed his eyes close until it moved away.

He blinked, seeing spots.

His back was killing him. He stretched his arms—

—and instead of the shoulder pop and crack of joints, he was treated to the feeling of not being able to move an inch. He stilled, even if he could feel his panic start to rise and something heavy settle in his throat.

“Are you awake now?” a too familiar voice asked, and Chris forced himself to look at the man on his left. Stilinski stood there, a flashlight on his hand, bouncing on his feet.

“I knew you were rotten,” he rasped. He still felt a little woozy but being able to direct his attention at something—someone—helped.

Stilinski’s brows rose.

“Wow. Rude.” He leaned forward. Chris tested his bindings again, but they were just as tight as they were before. He would have wanted to sock that smirk off Stilinski’s face. “And here I thought we had something special.”

“I’m going to make sure you’ll hang for this.”

“Wow. Wooooow, someone is in a bad mood. Besides, I’m not the one who tied you up all nice and presenty. I’m not really good at ropework, more of an escape artist than anything else.”

“But I am.”

Chris slowly turned to his head to watch Peter walk up to Stilinski, face shadowed with the little light from Stilinski’s flashlight, carrying a box in his hands.

“Peter?” The shock inside him made him choke on the name.

Peter gave him a look that was a mix of a sneer and mock pity. It was one Chris had seen him direct at the insects around him, the things that left a bad taste in his mouth.

And now it was directed at him.

“Talia will—”

“Talia won’t,” the woman in question cut in, coming to stand on Chris’ other side. A dark-skinned man came with her, his face expressionless next to the blood red eyes of the alpha. She sighed, as if years of weariness were about to be washed away. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a decade.”

Chris’ head hurt along with his heart at the betrayals—both of them.

Peter held the box in front of Stilinski, who pretended to be shocked before a wide smile spread on his lips.

“What’s in the box?” he drawled, excited. He was almost vibrating out of his skin. One of the Hales snorted in the background.

Chris couldn’t see what was there; his head wouldn’t bend that far. Only when Stiles took each of the items out did he see the outlines that pieced together the puzzle for him.

A fridge magnet.

A nail.

A bottle of prescription drugs.

A silken scarf, bathed in red.

More and more came out of the box, one by one, until the numbers matched the murders Chris had pinned at Stilinski. He then realised how very wrong he had been, how he should have known better.

“You,” he merely said, accusing and brokenhearted. Peter didn’t even spare him a look, all his attention of Stilinski’s eager, excited countenance, as he took in all the mementos taken from the murder scenes.

“Me.”

“Kate was right about you after all,” Chris whispered. Peter tsked.

“You only have your father to thank for,” Talia said, her eyes flashing red. Always impeccable and in control, she looked like she was one wrong word from shifting. “He tried to kill the Nemeton. Even now it’s barely crawling by and the only thing keeping it from destroying the west coast is Claudia Gajos-Stilinski’s soul.”

Stilinski’s mouth twitched downwards. The look on his face was hard as a diamond.

Chris felt the dread fill the holes inside him the recent revelations had made.

“What?”

“You thought the number of madmen and creatures out of their minds that all headed to Beacon Hills meant nothing?” Talia’s voice reflected the anger on her face. “You thought nothing of the increased activity? The balance has been off since _your_ _father_ decided he wanted the Nemeton’s power for himself. He killed the guardian that had tried to protect it, managing a blow most grievous to the tree, and caused a backlash so powerful he _eviscerated himself from existence_.”

Chris couldn’t get a word out, Talia’s words hitting him like acid. She didn’t seem to care, as she continued: “We’ve been here, waiting, for a new opportunity. For a literal decade. The only reason you were allowed to live was because we needed you to. If we could have—” Talia took a deep breath and fell silent, her eyes blazing like a thousand suns.

“Your borrowed time is ending today, Argent. It was either you or your daughter. This is the only mercy you and yours will ever get from a Hale.”

“But—” Chris felt lost and hated how his emotions were so clearly reflected in his voice, “—Why the hunters? Why destroy all those innocent lives?”

Peter’s brows quirked. He looked almost amused, but his tone was ice. “Innocent? I beg to differ.”

“And you!” A sudden burst of fury racketed through Chris’ ribcage. “You _used_ me.”

Peter shrugged nonchalantly. “I did,” he agreed easily. “I needed to know more about you and your hunters. What better way than to invite myself into your bed?”

Chris found himself speechless, again. He could almost hear the shards of his heart hit the ground and burst into dust.

“You let them all go,” Stilinski said softly. His eyes were cold steel as they bore into Chris’. “You let them go after Kate happened, and they murdered my dad to escape justice.”

“It was an—”

“Accident? Bad luck? Like how all the other deaths you and your buddies caused were ruled as, if found at all?”

Chris’ mouth snapped shut.

He wasn’t… wrong.

“That’s the only stipulation Stiles had,” Talia revealed. She didn’t sound like she was condoning it but, rather, that she was just stating a fact.

“He was magnificent when he killed the first one, just after you fled California,” Peter said. His grin grew hungry as he stared at Stilinski. “Just fourteen years old and able to kill a grown man twice his size without leaving any evidence behind.”

Stilinski’s lips twitched. “I remember you following after me, offering tips.”

“That you never took,” Peter countered, canines showing. “You just did all your way, to show yourself as capable as you always were.”

Chris stared at the exchange. His nails pressed into his skin and his fists started bleeding on the stump of the Nemeton he was bound on.

“Then Kate—” he trailed off, unable to continue. There was just too much to make any sense of.

He didn’t have to, though, when Peter continued almost absently, again only having eyes for Stilinski. “It was careless of Talia to try the sacrifice so close to everything but, well. Mistakes were made and rectified. After the failure with Victoria, I would have kept Kate alive after her attempt at vengeance until the ritual could be done again, but Talia’s temper got better of her.”

No, Chris thought, horrified, even as Talia bared her teeth, fangs elongated. “You would have as well had she threatened Stiles the way she did Derek.”

Peter’s brows rose, smile chilling Chris to his bones.

“You dare?” he asked pleasantly. Talia seemed to realise her blunder and she pulled back her shift.

“No. But you know it to be true.”

Stilinski nudged Peter, petting the fridge magnet like it was something precious at the same time. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes.”

“You don’t hate each other,” Chris said suddenly. The way Peter had always talked about Talia, the way Talia acted when Peter’s name was spoken—it had all been too perfect, he realised now.

The twin grins he got as an answer were enough of one in themselves.

Stilinski sighed, reverently placing the magnet back to the box. He held his hand to Peter.

“The only thing left,” Stilinski said, staring at him, “Is to close the circle.”

Peter took something from somewhere his body and pressed it to Stiles’ waiting hand. It was the dagger Chris had gotten, blessed by the rulers of balance and tipped in the sap of the daughters of Yggdrasil, the Nemeta.

He felt like a fool, played like a fiddle.

Still— “Why now?” Chris couldn’t help but ask. Why not before? Why wait a decade? _Why_ this elaborate scheme?

Stilinski hummed, and said, “Two reasons. One, I wanted revenge. Two, the ritual could only be done under specific conditions.”

And that’s all he said. He stood there, smirking, waiting for Chris to ask for more details about his personal doom. As if he knew Chris was only prolonging his demise, that Stiles was doing him a favour by sharing the particulars.

And, Chris cursed, he was right. He wished he wasn’t, damning the man to the lowest of hells, but—

“What conditions?”

—he couldn’t help wanting to know _more_ about the person he had chased for months.

The smirk gained a mocking edge.

“This is the first blue moon that’s also a supermoon in literally a decade,” Stilinski revealed. They both peered upwards, the huger than usual moon staring back at them. “Gerard made the mistake of committing his crime during a regular full moon. Afterwards, the Hales tried to do the ritual but failed; under the right moon but with a couple of key mistakes.”

Talia scowled in the background but said nothing. Stilinski raised his hand, one finger flicking up.

“One, the Argent they used wasn’t blood-related to the one committing the crime.” Another finger was added to the mix. “And two, only another Spark can release a curse set by a Spark.

Chris felt like someone had punched him in the gut. They were talking about Victoria. _That’s_ why her body had been mauled as if angry animals had torn her to shreds. However, there was one more thing that made him sick to the core, a realisation most awful. He stared at the man, shocked—and scared.

“You are a _Spark_?”

He had been _right_ —and so, _so_ wrong.

Stilinski shrugged again, waving his fingers at him mockingly.

Then—

Chris turned to look at Peter. Peter shared the self-satisfied look that was on Stilinski’s face.

“This is no balance,” Chris said. “You are killing an innocent—”

“The only person innocent in your family, Christopher,” Peter said, voice growing cold, “Is your daughter, and the only reason we didn’t go after her, when it would have been _so_ much easier, was because of Stiles. That is mercy enough.”

Chris’ mouth moved but no sound came out as Peter repeated what Talia had said earlier. With every word, it was like Peter was twisting the dagger he held in his hand in the remains of Chris’ heart. Peter suddenly gave him the same smile he used to give to him all those years ago. Chris remembered how it used to transform the whole room, as silly as it sounded.

Yet, now he could see the cracks in it and the way it never reached his eyes; the way the warmth only ever returned when he watched over to Stilinski in helpless adoration.

“All this, just a game,” Chris murmured.

“And balance,” Stilinski said. “A circle started by an Argent killing a Spark and attempting to harness the Nemeton; a circle closed by a Spark sacrificing an Argent to restoring it. It all comes together pretty nicely, I’d say.”

Talia glanced at the moon.

“It’s time.”

In the end, it was Stilinski and Peter who stood above Chris. He tried his hardest, but the bindings wouldn’t budge at all. He could feel the dread as Stilinski held the dagger above and slowly moved it until it was pressed against Chris’ frantically beating chest.

Peter stared straight into Chris’ eyes, an ever-widening smirk on his lips. He wrapped his hands around Stiles’ and, together, Chris felt it pierce his skin ever so slightly. The blood rushed in his ears but, somehow, he managed to hear the final words directed at him.

“And that’s how you court a Spark,” Peter said softly, a caress in the wind that sent shivers down Chris’ back. Stilinski’s grin widened.

“Good night, Mr. Argent.”

The last thing Chris ever knew was the twin glows of the eyes above him and the howls of bloodthirsty joy in the background.

***

Stiles licked into Peter’s bloody mouth, the fangs making his lips bleed with their sharpness. It mingled with the red already there but overpowered it quickly with its potent magic. Peter moaned as he swallowed it down as Stiles fed him his life essence.

The bite on his shoulder _throbbed_.

“I love you,” Peter whispered, eyes bright blue and shining with devotion.

Stiles grinned. The howls of the Hale pack travelled across the woods but were starting to become more distant as they left the newly mated couple at the Nemeton to consummate their bond, celebrating the brightest spark in the century joining their pack and the completion of the revenge taken decades to shimmer.

“I love you too,” he promised, just as sweetly, and his heart didn’t skip one beat as Peter threw him down next to the thriving Nemeton that spread its branches towards the sky.

The full moon shone down on them, bathing the world in crimson, and rejoicing with the power of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> _Murder husbands._
> 
> If you have the time to spare, I'd love to hear your thoughts :) Also, happy holidays everyone!


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